


Set In Stone

by WhenIFindLoveAgain



Category: The Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Genderswap, Romance, Sad, f/f - Freeform, feel, same sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 21:48:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13490442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhenIFindLoveAgain/pseuds/WhenIFindLoveAgain
Summary: This is a little genderswap piece of Cassandra Clare's parabatai characters, Will Herondale and Jem Carstairs, whom I've shipped together - the amount of heronstairs fics are unbelieveable and either way with the original story and added bits either way they would make a fantastic story and couple on their own - and I felt like doing a genderswap, for something different.This is full of fluff, no sex, so, if you're looking for that type a thing drop a comment, and I'll give it a go for you're enjoyment





	Set In Stone

"What are you reading?"  
Willow looked over her shoulder at her parabatai, Jemma. It hadn't always been her name; Jemma had once told her that in China, her name had been Mi Young, but everybody called her Jem, spelling it with an anglo-saxon English "J", because it was an in-offensive abbreviation of her name, and in all honest truth, she was one. Ever since Willow had called her Jem. And she really was.  
Her looks were slightly controversial; not because of her been a half-blood cacasuian, but because she was like the thick-boned, big-lipped Russian princesses - nothing at all likenable with Chinese beauty standards - but then with her porcelain white skin, lean figure and pretty blue-grey irises, she was a vision of the what the Chinese classed as beauty. The first time Willow had met Jemma, that's what she had immiedately noticed; Jemma's eyes were slanted in a way that screamed "full-blood Chinese", and they were entirely hypnotic if you looked directly into them. Paired with the rest of her features, she was quite something.  
"The newspaper. The amount of (welsh word for bullshit) that is printed..." Willow replied witheredly, shaking her head. "Absolute (welsh word for rubbish)."  
Jemma laughed. Willow looked down as Jemma came around from the back of the chair, and leant down at her parabatai's knees. That was another thing Willow found curious; Jemma, unless she could help it, never sat in chairs. She instead favoured to kneel down on the floor, her hands neatly in her lap. Willow thought it was amazing how she would eerily glide into a room, and everybody would look at her, as though she balanced heaven and hell on her hands. And yet, she would come at kneel at your feet, like a geisha-like servant would, completely and utter innocent.  
Jemma rested her fore-arms, then her chin, atop Willow's knees. She thought Willow was very masculine at times; curving cheekbones that were thick like hers, big lips, the dark eyes. Except with Willow, her face was like a block, with slightly shadows under her cheekbones, with thick black eyebrows and black hair that was naturally curly. She looked it especially, reading the newspaper, and legs crossed over one another like a gentleman in a club. All she needed was a cigar, Jemma thought privately.  
"What're you smilin' at?" Willow said, and with a grunt that mingled with Jemma's surprised laugh, she pulled Jemma off the floor and into her lap, Jemma's lower back, bum, and thigh squashed into the little bit of the armchair on Willow's right side. Sometimes when Willow spoke, the welsh accent would creep back into her voice, and make it sound agressive, and volatile, like her throat was full of hot coals. Jemma felt that she could close her eyes and listen to it all day, so different to her cousins and the other girls in China whose voices were too high and thin to trigger a shiver.  
Jemma rested her head against the back of the chair, only a few centimeters from Willow's. Jemma once again, felt a little bit of jealousness over Willow's eyelashes; long, black, beautiful, like a veil. Jemma had taken after her Mother's side of the family, where eyelashes on the upper lid were short and stubby, and nearly completely not existent on the bottom. And with her eyes slanted as they were, it was impossible just about to tell she had any.  
"I was thinking..." Jemma chuckled. "How very lucky I am to have you in my life." She leant over and kissed Willow's cheek, giving her hand a squeeze.  
Willow closed her eyes as Jemma's lips brushed over the side of her temple, and the warm slide, then the pressure, of Jemma's hand across her own. It was nearly 8 months ago that Willow had found out that Jemma had a terminal illness, one that caused blood clots to form in her lungs, and make oxygen bubbles form in her blood; one that would drain her body of colour, and maybe even make her hair fall out. One that was doomed to kill her.  
Willow had heard Brother Enoch say to Charlotte, "Life expectancy is two, three years. I'm sorry." She had wondered sightlessly through the Institute, going wherever her feet took her, until she arrived in the corridor where Jemma's room was allocated. She had opened every door until she had come to the third on of the left. Inside, she had seen a girl, about her age, asleep in the centre of the bed, in a little ball. That was when tears had started to slip down Willow's cheeks. In her head, for the first time in months, her head wasn't for of anger or misery, instead the voice of one of the local boys she had known in her town in Wales, singing a folk song  
An angel'll die/Covered in white/Closed eyes and hoping for a better life/This time/we'll fade out/straight down the line  
She couldn't even begin to explain the pain that struck her everytime she was reminded that Jemma was dying; It was like the dull, resounding thud of the bell that rang in Westminster at midday. Always, then, she smiled. All that mattered was Jemma, and her happiness. It rarely hit Willow that one day Jemma wouldn't be by her side anymore. She was already going to that other place that Willow was sure didn't bloody well exist.  
"Too bloody right, luvvy." She answered, causing Jemma to grin. "You hungry?"  
"No," Jemma shook her head. "Agatha called you a "bottom-less pit"." She watched Willow's expression change to surprise.  
"Well, isn't she a bitch?" Willow said incredulously. Jemma's chest shook with laughter, and she leant into Willow's side.  
"You are terrible, Willow." Jemma eased herself off Willow and onto the floor where she went over to the window. It was cold, and the sky was overcast. It was her first English Winter, and Christmas. She had asked Willow if it would snow, to which Willow had clipped her lightly over the head, and strode off down the hallway. She turned as Willow came up behind her.  
"Don't you dare go for a walk out in that." Willow said firmly. "It's absolutely miserable."


End file.
